


Bold Decisions and Slimy Lips

by RoyaleBullets



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Frank is totally stubborn but a sweetheart in the end, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 00:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyaleBullets/pseuds/RoyaleBullets
Summary: When a certain best friend decides they're both going to a concert, Frank wants nothing to do with it. He's left having dozens of lives in his hands. He's left seeing something only he can change.





	Bold Decisions and Slimy Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for Suicide Attempt.

There’s nothing overly exciting about going to school. There’s nothing overly exciting about being around people whom everyone despises, whom everyone looks down at, and whom everyone treats like shit. But alas, school has apparently become a necessity to the point where it’s against the law not to attend it.

Frank absolutely despises going to school. He hates it more than he hates spider-man and that’s a lot of hate. It’s an emotion that fills him with rage as he sits inside those walls and stares at those awful people. It’s gotten to a point where Frank has to physically refrain himself from denting the skulls of a few of his classmates. Instead, he fumes, and dents metal objects in the place of bone. It’s nowhere near as satisfying, but it’s better than jail, Frank thinks. He’s not entirely sure about that, though, because denting Earl’s skull would be fun and totally worth it, it’s become such an urge that Frank vented about it to his mother the other day, and she’d strongly advised against it. But Frank _really_ wants to dent Earl’s skull inwards.

As he’s sitting in his usual desk, one that no one else wants to sit in because of its uncomfortable lack of being leveled (it’s been dented, unsurprisingly), Frank thinks whether a skull can even be dented. The math teacher is explaining something that he knows he’ll never use in life, and Earl is sitting just a few rows ahead, so Frank stares at him with the most ill-wishing of looks while trying to crush a pencil in his hand. He truly and utterly hates Earl. 

He feels that hate even after the bell rings and Earl is no longer near him, even when he’s sitting in an uncomfortable cafeteria chair, and even when he waves goodbye to a few people who’ve been nice to him recently. Frank doesn’t have friends unless you count the one with the forehead.

Brendon really is a piece of work, confident, loud, and far too outgoing for Frank’s liking. Their friendship had formed on the first day of high school when Frank walked in through the doors with a band shirt on, and Brendon pulled him aside because he also liked that band. It was then that Frank realized that people with good taste in music were hard to find. He doesn’t like that band anymore, but Brendon is still confident, loud, and far too outgoing.

On top of that, Brendon is now telling him that he’s decided to go to a concert this evening. He doesn’t say when he’d made such a decision, but apparently, Frank is forced to listen to everything about it. 

Some new local bands put up flyers around the streets, and Brendon tells him that he once decided to look at those flyers. He says that the members are rather attractive and that Frank would like them, and apparently, bands are now popular because their musicians are good-looking. 

As he’s walking home, Frank has to listen to Brendon even though they’d said goodbye minutes ago, but the kid with the overly large forehead also decided that he wants Frank to come with him tonight. Brendon’s been making a lot of bad decisions lately. 

Frank rolls his eyes at Brendon’s constant pleading, the way that he makes those ridiculous faces like the orange cat from Shrek that Frank also despises. (He only despises that cat because its voice is awfully hot, but Frank would never admit into being attracted to a cat. Also, the actor behind it is hot apparently, but Frank doesn’t want to google how old the man is either.)

Now, Brendon’s just pouting about how good the band is, how good the concert will be, and Frank’s just not having any of it. Earl, for some reason, is now less likely to have a dented skull than Brendon, and Frank decides that Brendon will outlive him because he has too much skull anyway. 

“Frank, please!” Brendon yells into his right ear. Frank really wants to punch something, granted that being an example of his anger problems, but he’s sure that anyone would want to. No one can actually _stand_ Brendon. 

“Brendon, you’re a great person and everything, but this band probably sucks because _you_ like it,” Frank says, walking faster down the street to get away from the obnoxiously forehead-ed man. He also tells himself that it’s for Brendon’s personal safety.

“Oh laugh at me all you want, Frankie dear. But the singer is hot and I want his number.”

Frank rolls his eyes because he cannot take any more of his friend’s existence. Actually, he wants to rephrase that last statement because Brendon is either not going to be his friend in the span of the next five minutes, or Brendon is just not going to exist. Frank is fine with either one. 

“Have you even listened to their songs?” Frank asks.

“Of course not! They don’t have a studio album, I don’t think. It’s their opening show, and it’s right here in Jersey!”

“Well, why do you want _me_ to come with you? Take Pete or something.”

Brendon huffs and lingers behind Frank for a moment until he decides that he’ll walk even faster and right next to Frank. Frank was just happy to have a breath of fresh air for a moment because he doubts that there will be anymore. 

Brendon breathes relatively noisily, surprisingly. He breathes a lot in general. Frank wants to change that sometime soon. He can definitely envision strangling, just to deprive Brendon of oxygen, but denting has been his dream for a long time now.

“Frank, stop ignoring me.”

Frank hasn’t even realized that he’s _been_ ignoring Brendon. If there’s any explanation for it, it’s that Brendon is a total nimrod and should not be next to Frank at all right now. Most importantly, Frank doesn’t want to go to a stupid concert with stupid teenagers and a supposedly stupidly hot lead singer. 

“Sorry,” He shrugs.

“Please go. I’ll pick you and drop you off like a gentleman if you’d like. But I really don’t want to do that because I intend to be drinking a lot tonight, and I doubt that would safe for either of us.”

Frank rolls his eyes again, but this time, he includes a groan to really express his discomfort. “Brendon, you are not picking me up or dropping me off _ever_. I hope you know that.”

Brendon huffs again and clutches the straps of his backpack which makes him look like a fifth grader when really, he’s taller than Frank, so that makes Frank look like a second-grader. He’s not happy about that. 

“Why the hell not?” Brendon asks.

“Because my mother is going to think that you’re someone important, like a boyfriend since she’s really overly accepting, and then I’m going to stampeded with questions, and then there will be her usual disappointment.” There’s a sarcastic tone in his voice because he’s mostly just trying to scare Brendon off. 

“What? What in the name of that really cute singer of that band that I want to see with you tonight is her usual disappointment?” Brendon asks in a giggly fit. It’s strange how someone can say that many words at just the right speed with just the right enunciation, and have enough air left over in their lungs to laugh later.

Frank turns his head for the first time that day to look at Brendon, only to give him a very scolding expression, but he turns back too quickly because it’s hurting his neck. Brendon is not worth a strained neck, and if anything, it’s Brendon’s neck that should be strained.

“Why would she think I’m your boyfriend anyway?” Brendon asks, this time more seriously.

“I don’t know. Wait, remember when Pete came over? Well actually, he just showed up at my door and asked for me, so my mom assumed we were together because she really doesn’t know how friendships work, and I didn’t hear the end of it for about a month, I’d say. Yeah, my mom called him cute and everything which really just grossed me out because really? Pete the Wheat is cute?”

“Dude, Pete the Wheat _died_ with Frank the Wank.”

Frank really wants to punch Brendon right now because Pete’s bleach-blonde hair (that looks like the wheat cereal) is never going to be ‘dead’ to Frank. But no one can seem to forget when Brendon accidentally opened Frank’s web browser on his phone and found a few interesting searches. Frank claimed that they were advertisements that he’d forgotten to close from illegally pirated online movies and nothing more, but Pete had been more than happy to come up with that nickname for him. 

Frank decides that giving Brendon a bruise is really not that bad compared to denting his skulls like he _really_ wants to do, so he settles on a fairly soft spot on his friend’s arm. Brendon whines childishly before bursting into another fit of giggles and takes out his phone.

“Frank, I’m begging you. Please come with me. I’d ask Pete, but he’s getting his hair bleached again tonight, and apparently, that appointment was hard to get.”

“Pete the Wheat is ‘dead’ my left ass cheek. Brendon, you see that well?” Frank points to an old well that’s standing in its lonesome in a park. Brendon nods. “Its insides are going to be the only thing on earth that you’ll be able to see if you don’t shut up in the next ten seconds.”

“But I’m going to be lonely there!”

“I said shut up about that!”

“In ten seconds! I doubt it’s been ten seconds,” Brendon yells back. 

Frank groans loudly, slapping his own forehead with a loud clap at which Brendon bursts into yet another fit of giggles. And in response to which Frank gives him another scolding glance. 

“Can you show me a picture of the cute band member then? I’d like to judge for myself, thank you very much.”

Brendon shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I only agreed to drive you. No other negotiations.”

“You’re a mean one,” Frank sighs.

“Mr. Grinch,” Brendon adds with a huge grin on his face. Frank thinks he must be incredibly proud of referencing a Dr. Seuss-based song, but really, Brendon belongs in that well. Frank is seriously considering staring at Brendon’s flailing legs as he hangs upside down and screams. 

Brendon’s phone lights up, and he checks it, another mischievous grin on his face. Frank can’t help but dread his future and reconsider his life choices. 

“Who is it?”

“Pete. He says he can drop us off at the venue before his appointment. It’s official, you’re going.”

“Hey, Brendon?” 

“Yeah?”

“Has anyone ever told you that even though your forehead is the size of our _solar system_, forget the moon, you’ve really got no brain in there? Because if someone has ever said that to you, just know that they are entirely correct, and I’d like to be friends with them far more than with you,” Frank states monotonously as if telling your best friend something like that is completely normal. Brendon doesn’t take it to heart, though, and enjoys insulting Frank right back.

“I hope that person is shorter than you then. Our friendship really isn’t working out because you’re just sour that I’m _far_ more attractive _and_ a decent height, which is more than you can say for yourself.”

Brendon earns himself another bruise on the arm, and Frank is really starting to enjoy leaving those, but the two smile absurdly nonetheless and clutch their backpack straps like the fifth graders they are. 

Before Brendon can complain some more, Frank is already running to his house, waving goodbye to the obnoxious preschooler behind him who’s screaming out the time that Frank should be ready by. Mrs. Pott across the street is staring at Frank right now, the watering can in her hand falls onto the ground from her lack of interest in gardening, and she gives Frank a hateful look as if it’s his fault. The woman just doesn’t like Brendon in general, and even though Frank dislikes her as much as politely possible, he agrees with her opinion.

Brendon stands on the sidewalk, waving profusely at Frank with a stupid grin on his face, and Frank runs up the stairs of the porch to hide from him on the other side of the front door. He thinks he’s successful in doing so, but then his mother, as if with a telepathic sense, appears right in front of him as he’s closing the door in Brendon’s face.

Linda eyes her son with little interest, intrigued more by the attractive boy with glasses that Frank had just so rudely bid farewell to. “Who was that, Frankie?”

“No one interesting. Just Brendon.” Frank grins at his mother, in hope that she’ll drop every question she has off the face of the earth, but alas, Frank isn’t so lucky.

“He’s cute, you know.”

Frank groans dramatically at his mother and throws his backpack on the floor. “Mom, stop calling my friends cute!”

“Not a chance.” Linda walks away, feeling proud of herself as if making your child embarrassingly uncomfortable is a great achievement. Frank is wondering if she thinks he’s gay or something. Because he’s _not_. Well, actually, he’s never thought about it. 

He plops down on the couch with a tired sigh and stares at the ceiling for a few moments. The house smells like food, something that Frank absolutely adores about his mother. He doesn’t want to have to skip the lasagna to go to some stupid rock concert, especially because Brendon refuses to accept the fact that music isn’t good just because the people making it look good. The American pop industry, in Frank’s opinion, did not get that memo. 

Alas, Frank thinks he’s gotten away from Brendon for the day, but his phone lights up a minute later, and being the internet dependant little moron that he is, he checks it instantly. And it’s Brendon texting him.

_“Frank, I will pay for your ticket if you come with me.”_

Frank lets out a disappointingly unattractive laugh, a noise at which Linda comes out of the kitchen to check if her son is mentally stable. She’s obviously not surprised to see him laughing at an inanimate object that glows with a particularly boring shade of blue.

_“Go alone, Brendon.”_

_“No.”_

_“I’m losing my sanity being friends with you already, please don’t make this any harder.”_

Frank imagines Brendon fake gasping as he reads that text, and it takes a few minutes before Brendon responds. Frank thinks it’s because he was thinking of a snazzy comeback, but he’s rather disappointed when Brendon answers.

_“I will buy you alcohol.”_

Now, neither of them are legal drinking age, but Frank doesn’t even look to be. Brendon is tall, slender, and intimidating when he wants to be, so buying booze really isn’t hard for him. Frank’s had more trouble even with a convincing fake id. 

Brendon is being too blunt about this, Frank thinks. There’s no disappointing humor involved, Frank is not losing anymore sanity – Brendon just really wants to go. Frank also thinks that he’d be an asshole for leaving his best friend hanging like that, although Frank really wants to see that happen. But literally, not figuratively. 

Now, Frank is trying to be all high and mighty and philosophical about this, but he just wants something to drink that his mom won’t check the ingredients of and then tell him that it’s undrinkable poison. 

_“…”_ is what Frank settles on because answering with a straight-up ‘yes’ makes him sound that he’d rather drink than go out with his friend, and Frank doesn’t want to be that kind of a person. 

_“So…?”_

_“Fine.” _

Brendon is probably jumping for joy right now, but Frank is wallowing in his own misery because he’s going to miss that fresh lasagna that his mom is making. 

He needs a nap.

~*~

Frank thinks that it’s Brendon’s personal mission to annoy people, especially his supposed best friend. Even though Frank’s been praying to the almighty Star Wars forces, they seem to think of him as negligible because Brendon appears at his door in about an hour. Frank’s sitting on the couch in his underwear and stuffing his face with lasagna to eat it faster. On top of that, Linda opens the door to the kid anyway. Apparently, that’s Frank’s punishment for not telling his mother more about Brendon.

So while Frank’s face is a combination of the different colors of lasagna, Brendon waltzes into the living room, smelling terribly of Axe cologne. And he bursts out laughing at the sight of Frank.

“Brendon, I will murder you.”

Brendon’s too busy wheezing, and Linda is standing behind him before she decides that she’s stepped into dangerous territory. 

Frank watches her go and sets down the plate of food onto the coffee table in the living room because apparently eating with the evening cartoons is something that Frank has to do no matter what. If you ask him what his goal in life is, he’d say it was watching every damn episode of Looney Tunes that there ever existed. 

Brendon is really becoming a shade of red from the lack of air, Frank wishes for him to laugh just a little bit longer. Maybe it would finally become quiet. 

“Frank, you look like Van Gogh dropped his orange paint on you, and then smeared it all over your face to create art.”

“Brendon, that’s really not funny.”

Brendon continues to laugh, up to the point where Frank’s ears are probably bleeding so he wipes off the food on his face, and gives Brendon another dirty look. 

“Like Garfield ate you _along_ with his lasagna,” Brendon’s almost on the floor in tears right now, so Frank decides to walk away a safe distance. Unfortunately, he chooses a spot in the living room near his mother’s favorite vase which Frank knows will be a projectile object in the next few seconds, so he steps back even more. With that look on his friend's face, he's really quite tempted to throw a few things now.

“Garfield is a very unappreciated cat,” Frank retorts.

Brendon, seemingly finally starting to come down from his laughing fit, shakes his head. “Puss in Boots from Shrek is better.”

That sends Frank to be the color of his unfinished lasagna because Brendon’s probably figured out his crush on the Shrek character. Frank’s probably going to be scolded for the rest of his life, and Pete is going to call him Frank the Cat Wanker instead. 

Brendon eyes Frank attentively for his lack of response but doesn’t say anything about it. Frank’s past search history has him with a few ideas, but it’s better leverage if Frank doesn’t know about it. 

And then, Frank suddenly runs upstairs and changes into something extremely casual because only then does he not feel like the nimrod he totally is.

~*~

“I’m telling you, he’s too old for you!” Pete is driving them both to the venue in a car that smells like death. Frank sees an air freshener, so he concludes that it smells like death with a hint of lavender. On top of that, he has no interest in Pete’s conversation with Brendon about the lead singer of that stupid band.

“He is not old! On the picture he looks twenty if not younger,” Brendon is holding a copy of the flyer that he’d ripped off a pole on his walk home. Frank has refused to look at the members even though the two have been shoving them in his face, and he feels proud of that. He’s looking quietly out the window when Brendon’s hand appears in front of him, propelling the paper in his direction with all his might. 

Instead of dwelling on the glimpse of the truly attractive member that he’d seen, Frank shoves Brendon’s hand out of his face, hearing as Brendon whines from the uncomfortable twist. That’s what they get for making Frank sit in the back. 

“You are so hopeless!” Brendon yells at him. 

“I’m also not gay!” Frank yells back.

The car is suddenly strangely quiet, Pete looks at Frank through the rear-view mirror, then at Brendon, and then they both start laughing hysterically. Brendon is cackling like a witch, and Pete is crying, and Frank is regretting this decision with all his life. He throws on his hood with a pout. 

The laughter then dies down, and the last thing heard throughout the car before silence is Brendon’s sigh and the words, “But fuck, he’s hot.”

To this day, Frank still doesn’t know why they laughed at him. He is totally not gay.

~*~

The venue is small-looking. It already smells like weed, and Frank has only taken one step out of Pete’s car. The car ride had been so outrageously annoying with the giggles coming from the front seats that Frank jumped out as soon as Pete let go of the gas pedal. Naturally, he stumbled right into someone waiting in line and muttered obscure apologies at the poor girl. Now he’s sheepishly straightening up and waiting for Brendon to get out of the car as well, but for some reason, his best friend is taking an unnecessarily long time to do so. So Frank forces a smile at the looks being sent his way when finally, Brendon emerges from the car with a grand grin as if he had just won the lottery. In his hand, he is still clutching the flyer of the band.

“What was taking so long?” Frank hisses at him.

“We were laughing at you,” Brendon is staring at the flyer, and Frank takes the opportunity to say goodbye to Pete, poking his head through the passenger window. 

“You’ll pick us up, Pete the Wheat?” Frank grins incredulously, watching as Pete jokingly scolds him back. 

“That died with Frank the Wank,” he retorts. 

Frank scoffs. “You’re getting your hair bleached again. You’ll look like wheat cereal.” 

“I bet you’re still into Shrek’s cat,” And with that, Pete drives off faster than a sinner in church because he knows that Frank will want to dent him inwards. Instead, Frank just laughs at it.

And Brendon is still staring at the flyer.

~*~

The venue is stuffy, not to mention from the days of country music. It smells immensely of weed, so much that Frank cringes and covers his nose. He looks at Brendon, who’s just happily glancing at the stage. Frank knows it will take a lot of booze to get through this.

“Brenny, dear boy,” Frank starts with an unamused expression as Brendon shifts his startled gaze to him.

“Jesus, I thought you were my mother for a second.”

“Alcohol.”

Brendon disappears into the crowd, promising unending amounts of booze and a free ride home by Pete the soon-to-be Fresh Wheat. Frank grins to himself as he stands against some kind of counter, watching the teens pile in. It suddenly becomes so crowded that he has to shift to the side every few moments, eventually ending up in the pit. It’s more crowded there, especially because everyone’s waiting for the band to come on. There are _a lot_ of girls, he’s wondering just how attractive the singer is. Frank hopes that they’re good at least.

He realizes that he’s standing right in the middle of the soon-to-be mosh pit (depends on the heaviness of the rock, of course, but Frank can see how excited the girls are, so it really won’t matter – they’ll crush anyone anyway), and he thinks it’s a bad idea for him to be there. Brendon waves at him from the bar, acting no older than a ten-year-old at their birthday party. 

Frank moves to the absolute side of the sideline where he can see a lot from the backstage entry. The venue is packed to the brim, and he can see Brendon squeezing his way through with four bottles of cheap beer. 

“Did you get the corniest corner?” Brendon hands him two bottles.

“Did you get the least expensive item on the menu? Is it vegan at least?”

“Yeah, whatever. Just drink and tell me how hot the lead singer is when the band comes on.” He grins and takes a sip, instantly becoming sidetracked by a girl who’s pressed up against him. “Well, hello there,” he says to her, and Frank is absolutely disgusted three seconds into their encounter. 

He turns to look backstage, waiting to peak at this extremely attractive lead singer that all the girls are just drying to see, including Brendon. At first, Frank thinks it’s the alcohol, but after rubbing his eyes, he can still see _him_.__

_ _The lead singer appears backstage, glancing onto the floor they’re supposed to play. He doesn’t see Frank because it’s too dark, but Frank can see him. The singer’s not overly attractive or anything, he can see the cuteness that everyone’s obsessing over, as well as the hotness, but it’s nothing major. The rest of the band comes into view, and naturally, Frank’s gaze lingers there longer. He figures he’s better off looking there than at Brendon snogging the girl next to him. _ _

_ _The whole band, from what Frank can make out, is on edge. They all look nervous, but not nervous to play. Frank knows the nervous-to-play look, they don’t have it. Instead, their worry is directed at the lead singer, and Frank furrows his brows as if to get a better view. _ _

_ _The other four members are bothering the singer, who’s sitting on an amp and fidgeting. There’s a look on the man’s face that Frank can’t make out too well, but he knows it’s not a good face to have before a show. If he’s not mistaken, and if the shadows aren’t tricking him, the man is crying. Frank swallows air, wondering what the hell's going on with them. _ _

_ _The venue turns on the preshow music from the speakers, and it blasts loudly throughout the building, getting some of the already drunk teens to start dancing. Frank sees Brendon moving his hips against the girl’s out of the corner of his eye and really doesn’t want to look in that direction. He sips his beer and continues to watch the band. It definitely tastes like piss._ _

_ _The members are now yelling at each other. The singer is on his feet and making a hysterical scene, seemingly screaming at all of his band members. He takes turns saying something to each one, causing them to physically deflate like a balloon. Then he plumps back onto the amp and cries into his hands as the rest stand around him. One tries to comfort him, but he just pushes them away, and this time, Frank sees the tears fall onto his shirt. And Frank sighs because the man’s wearing a The Clash shirt, and coincidentally, he loves that band. _ _

_ _Brendon hits him in the side, grinning drunkenly with an empty bottle in his hand. “Dude, lighten up. The guy will totally be hot. Your straight ass will love him anyway,” he slurs a bit. Frank can feel the alcohol on his breath. _ _

_ _“Brendon, you’re already drunk? Jesus, what a lightweight,” Frank scoffs. _ _

_ _“This beer is strong as fuck, dude.” And he opens his second bottle. _ _

_ _“It’s fucking five percent. Fucking five,” Frank mutters angrily to himself, ignoring Brendon. But when he turns to the backstage, the band is gone, and so is the lead singer. Frank really doesn’t know how this will work out, and spending the night watching Looney Tunes and eating lasagna would’ve been such a better option. _ _

_ _After a few more minutes of loitering among the sweat of the teenagers, not to mention the smell of Brendon’s testosterone, the lights finally dim to practically nothing and the overhead music stops, following a fancy guitar riff. The band runs on stage, Frank counts two guitars and a bass, so it will be rock, he thinks. The crowd cheers, the riffs and the drums continue, then the singer runs on stage and starts shouting into his mic. _ _

_ _The whole crowd jumps, taking Frank with them, who’s very unwilling to participate in their drunk theatrics. In the light that the stage gives, the singer does look _very_ appealing, but Frank’s not gay obviously. Not even an in-between gay. Not even a quarter gay. Brendon is drooling over him, though. And so are the rest of the girls. _ _

_ _The singer looks angry as he yells. He’s slouched over, his hips pushing out a bit further than would be considered appropriate, but Frank can tell that no one cares. Then, as the singer straightens up, Frank can still see the tears. Strangely enough, no one else can because they’re dancing and jumping and waving their hands into the air maniacally, not to mention the fact that no one _wants_ to notice them at all. Frank’s not having it. He wishes that he wasn’t there because dealing with someone else’s problems is not his thing._ _

_ _Some girl starts screaming next to him while Frank clutches his ears for life, and the singer bends down to put the mic to her mouth. She yells something along the lines of “can I have your number?” to which the singer grins and shakes his head, then straightens up and walks away. _ _

_ _The first thing Frank’s thinking is _Why the hell would you want to a stranger's number?_ To what, make out with him? He could have an STD for all anyone knows, considering his greasy look and neglected hygiene. He’s also been crying, and no one tastes good after crying, in Frank’s opinion. And his lips must be slimy from the singing, so really, Frank can’t find a single reason to want to kiss the prick. Or want his number. He’s also not gay._ _

_ _It’s been a few songs, and Frank feels like dying. He probably smells like weed. He probably reeks of alcohol. His mom is going to kill him without needing an explanation because that woman knows everything and it’s impossible, really. Frank loves his mother dearly, and he dare say that he’s afraid of her. Brendon’s enjoying himself, though, so Frank scowls his way. _ _

_ _As their last song, Frank hopes, (or at least second last) comes on, the music slows down. It’s probably a sad song, but everyone drunk just starts swaying against each other. Frank scowls more because what aspiring rock band plays a slow song on their opening Jersey show? This band just sucks, in his opinion, and the singer is totally not kissable. He disagrees with the girl. Absolutely not kissable._ _

_ _When Frank turns around, Brendon’s just gone, and he swears that if he won’t be able to find him, he’ll leave without him. In fact, Frank’s happy to go right now. So he starts walking away from the pit when something shiny catches his eye. He can swear that he saw _that_, but it’s too dark. _ _

_ _The shadows could be playing with him. _ _

_ _It must be too dark. _ _

_ _Frank hopes it’s too dark because no one brings a _pistol_ to a gig, especially not the band, and especially not the singer. _ _

_ _The singer’s holding the gun firmly in his hand, Frank can see his bones shake a bit. He keeps it hidden, though, and Frank can only see it because of his position and lack of carelessness. Frank is suddenly freaking out of his mind because he thinks he’s the only who noticed it, and he doesn’t want dead teenagers on his conscience. _ _

_ _As the singer smooths the notes out, Frank notices that he’s definitely got a beautiful voice, and he definitely has a pretty look during an emotional song. If Frank wasn’t so afraid he would actually be enjoying this. But alas, the universe doesn’t even let him do that. _ _

_ _The singer cocks the gun, and Frank’s heart stops. The man’s voice breaks as he hums, and Frank can see the tears flow down his cheek. Half the audience is laughing and cheering, and the rest is dancing with one another. But not Frank. Frank can feel the heartbeat in his ears instead._ _

_ _The man raises it slowly but surely, no one notices anything of it, not even the sweating band members who’ve gone backstage for a few-minute break since they’re not playing anything (it’s mostly just a piano accompaniment), but the singer doesn’t aim for the crowd, he aims it for his own head. It’s definitely a gun and he definitely looks ready enough to pull the trigger. Frank can’t let him do that. He takes it all back. The band’s good, the singer’s cute, hot even, sure. He just hopes that the man won’t do it. Not in front of everyone as well. _ _

_ _Frank stays frozen for a moment, but another voice crack from the singer drives him out of it. He’s crying again, Frank can see how he’s lost all hope for something. It’s the same look that he had backstage. Frank just can’t let anything happen. _ _

_ _So he pushes through the people in the crowd. He pushes through with all of his might, with every bone in his body, with as much force as he has. Frank shoves and swears, but no one notices him. It’s too dark down there, and the band’s too busy and distracted to see a short punk squeeze his way forward. _ _

_ _Frank thinks he has seconds maybe before the trigger is pulled and the brains of a human are all over the people in the front row. Frank also has no idea how no one notices the gun, but he doesn’t have time to ask questions. _ _

_ _Finally, he makes it right next to the stage. He’s staring at the guitar player, covered in sweat and bleeding from his fingers, talking to someone just off to the side. He wonders how long they’ve spent practicing for today, but wastes no time in jumping onto the platform. He’s running past the rest of the members, ignoring their confused glances and protesting shouts. Frank runs straight for the singer when the memory of the girl asking for his number resurfaces. He remembers how Brendon wanted his number. To what, fucking make out with him? _Why the fuck would you want to kiss him?_ he thinks as he snatches the gun from the singer’s hands. _ _

_ _Their eyes meet for a moment, and Frank knows he has to distract him from the weapon. He can’t think of anything else to do except _that_, and it’s fucking ridiculous. Frank just can’t fucking think. So he grabs a fistful of the guy’s band shirt, tugs it closer and presses their lips together, tasting something sweet and bitter, like candy and coffee mixed with slime. Frank pulls the man against himself as much as he can, wanting to forget that he’s on stage with people watching them. He tries to forget that this is his first kiss, and that he’s wasted it on a band junkie whose life was a second away from ending. _ _

_ _Frank suddenly realizes that this is worth so much more, though, and he continues to kiss the ever-loving fuck out of this dude. After a few moments, he can hear Brendon’s drunk cheers and so desperately tries to ignore them. The gun falls silently to the floor amid the fans’ screams and the music, and Frank is losing himself in the mouth of a stranger. It means the world to him when the stranger kisses back. _ _

_ _It means the world to him when the stranger smiles as they pull away. _ _

_ _It’ll mean the world to him when he’ll find out that the boy’s name is Gerard._ _

_ _It’ll mean the world to him when they’ll fall in love. _ _

_ _It already meant the world to him that Gerard didn’t kill himself. _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Something happier than my last fic, though it's still rather depressing. This is just something I had an idea for at 2am, I'm not even sure what in the flying fuck it is, and the jokes are probably terrible. BUT - I have a story that is MCR but not FRERARD, and I was wondering if anyone would be interested in reading it? It's about the Killjoys, and I think it's different than what you might see here. Comment?


End file.
